


Baggage

by MereWhispers



Category: Harry Potter RPF, Real Person Fiction, The Flash (TV 2014) RPF
Genre: (a really heavy dose too), (not abuse per se), Alcohol, Angst, Drama, F/M, Feltson - Freeform, Heavy Angst, Humor, POV Alternating, POV Third Person, Past Relationship(s), Past Tense, Real Life, Romance, Strong Profanity, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-08-23 22:50:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8345857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MereWhispers/pseuds/MereWhispers
Summary: Something that begins with a simple, meeting-up-with-friends episode, bursts into chaos when the media catches wind of it and decides to present it with the worst icing possible.Misunderstandings and heartbreaks and tainted histories are revoked, and no one seems to have a possibility of coming out unscathed from that mayhem.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I know it is highly unhealthy, illogical, and - at times - _barbaric_ to pray, day and night, for two people to get together, _in real life_ , and I do not appreciate and/or promote such shipping.
> 
> But. . . when it comes to Thomas Andrew Felton and Emma Charlotte Duerre Watson, I find myself helpless.
> 
>   
> 
> 
> * * *
> 
>   
> **DISCLAIMER**  
>  This work is a piece of fiction - musings from my mind, put in words, and intends to **_offend no person, living or dead._** Any comments and/or remarks that any character makes are neither the character's nor the author's personal point of view; they're mere thoughts and opinions that have been fit into a fictional environment and belong to no one.
> 
>   
> 
> 
> * * *
> 
>   
>  NOTE: KINDLY DO NOT READ THIS, IF YOU'RE OPPOSED TO THE IDEA OF **SHIPPING REAL PEOPLE.**
> 
> Rest, continue!

_30th October, 2016_

 

“When the _fuck_ did you _plan_ it? I hadn't a _clue_!”

 

Tom Felton winced, fighting the urge to hold his his phone at an arm's length as the masculine voice, on the other end, screeched in feminine pitch.

 

“It just… _happened._  I swear I didn't plan, at all, buddy,” he rushed to explain, trying his damndest to calm the black haired guy down. “Andrew contacted me just… out of the blues. And you _know_ how much this superhero stuff enchants me! I just - I said yes!”

 

An elongated sigh travelled down to his ears. Tom leant back on the bed, thumping his head against the headboard. Why was this man being so _difficult_?

 

“I don't even _know_ what to feel about it, mate,” came a low mumble.

 

Tom flinched. “It isn't… I just got too _caught up_ in all of it, buddy, I wasn't - ”

 

“It's okay. I'm being unreasonable, please, just -” the voice on the other end broke off with a sigh. “When does your thing wrap up?”

 

 _Wrap up_? Tom scowled, leaning further back into the cushiony headboard. What was _wrong_ with this guy, today?

 

“Looking at how it's just _begun,_ ” Tom said, sneering slightly, “I don't think it is healthy to talk about it's end just yet.”

 

Another sigh was heard. “I want you to meet someone,” was the response.

 

Tom shrugged. “That doesn't sound very complicated. Who?”

 

“My girlfriend.”

 

Tom jolted in shock, quickly sitting back up at the shy tone of one Matthew Dave Lewis. “You got yourself a _girlfriend_ , Matt?” he asked in surprise.

 

“Yeah, well. You aren't the only one being discreet about their engagements, these days,” Matt responded with a snark of his own.

 

Tom shook his head, eyes wide at what he'd just heard. “Who is she?”

 

Matt chuckled. “There's an event towards the end of December, in Paris. She's going to be there. I want you to visit that with me, _and_ meet her. Will you?”

 

Tom blinked in surprise. “Why do you have to wait for _two months_ to meet your girlfriend?”

 

“She's into a… _busy_ profession. And she's from Romania, so… We don't meet that often, at all.”

 

Tom grunted in amusement. “That's a _crazy_ relationship you have going, there, Matt. How long?”

 

Tom could actually _hear_ the blush that Matt would have been sporting, as the raven-haired guy coughed. “It, uh… About - about a month.”

 

Tom burst out laughing.

 

“Hey!” came a very indignant exclamation, to which he laughed harder, barely maintaining the hold he had on his phone. “Don't laugh, Tom! You didn't tell me you were being cast into a show - I had to discover it with a _Tweet_ ; the least you can do is _compensat_!”

 

Tom's laughter slowly, _very_ gradually, dissolved into a few breathy chuckles, here and there, until he finally sighed. “You're trapping me, you know?”

 

“Oh, I do, of course.” He sounded all too smug.

 

Tom chuckled again. “Alright, you have me there. The shooting wraps up - uh, _before_ December end,” he caught himself, _just_ in time, from violating a policy from his contract. “I'll come with you.”

 

Matthew Lewis’ _whoop_ of victory felt very out of place to him.

 

* * *

 

 

_27th December, 2016_

 

Tom hadn't a clue what had compelled him to fall prey to Matt’s guilt trap. He should have said _no_ . He should've snapped at Matt, and said that they were no longer eighteen, and no longer best mates, and _no longer obliged to share every little thing!_

 

But - he hadn't. Instead, he'd let the sod manipulate him, and had gotten himself an impromptu invitation to a place that - he was certain - he would _never_ had received if it wasn't for Matt's intervention.

  
The press release of ‘ _A Gaiety That Isn't_ ’, a - seemingly - wonderful novel on a woman's psychology, and emotions, and all the ups and downs in her life, written by Emma Watson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...if you find this even remotely good, drop in a kudos and leave a comment. And, what do you think of the book I made Emma write?
> 
> xoxo,  
> MereWhispers!


	2. One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. 
> 
> The 'Chris', mentioned, here, is Chris Felton – a brother of Tom's that was, once, a good friend of Emma's.
> 
> Then there's a whole lot of Emma's family background involved, which I tried researching as thoroughly as I could. 
> 
> So, here it is, in case you're unaware:  
> □ Emma's birthplace is Paris, though she was brought up in Oxfordshire, England.  
> □ Her parents, both lawyers, divorced when she was five.  
> □ She has a real, younger brother (24 of age, as of November 2016) called Alexander Watson.  
> □ She and Alex lived with their mother in Oxfordshire; her father remarried.  
> □ She has a younger half-brother (13 of age, as of November 2016) Toby, and two younger half-sisters (twins; both 12 of age, as of November 2016) Lucy and Nina.
> 
> * * *
> 
> __  
>  **NOTE: THE EVENTS HAPPENING IN THIS STORY ARE ALL FICTIONAL, APART FROM THINGS (hotels, places, people) THAT YOU CAN RECOGNIZE AS BELONGING TO THE REAL WORLD.**   
> 

Matt could really be a _sweetheart_ if he wanted, Tom concluded, having finished a tour of the suite that the said sweetheart had booked for him.

 

 _Le Meurice_ was one of the most luxurious – _and_ the most priciest – of hotels, all over France, according to what Tom knew. He wondered what might have come over Matt that he booked a suite, here, for not just himself and his girlfriend, but a _friend_ , too. Two suites here would probably cost more than the entire amount of cash Tom had on his person, on this trip.

 

And, anyway, if it would've been up to _him_ , he would have rented a cheap room in some cheap Bed and Breakfast. He was here for _three days_ ; what difference would it have made?

 

But, now that he was here, he definitely wasn't _complaining_.

 

Sighing contentedly, he fished his phone out of his yoga pants, slumping down on the queen sized bed in his bedroom.

 

There were seven messages from Chris – that _awful_ , meddlesome _idiot_ – which he was going to ignore; three hundred notifications from his Twitter that he didn't wish to check; eight hundred twenty two notifications from his Instagram – that he _did_ intend to browse through.

 

His work cut for the afternoon, Tom swiped open Matt Lewis’ iMessage and typed away a short text before grabbing his headphones and snuggling further into the silken covers.

 

* * *

 

 

To say she was _nervous_ , would be understatement of the _century_. She was a bundle of tingling nerves. Today was _the_ day – the _grand_ day – the day she'd dreamt of experiencing since the age of _thirteen_. _Even_ _before_ , actually, if she considered her dreams of getting her personal diary published – not unlike Anne Frank – and declaring―

 

“Have a bite, Miss Watson, _please_ ,” her agent pleaded, for the umpteenth time, forwarding her a plate of chocolate croissants. “You'll work yourself into a _fever_ if you keep this up.”

 

 _That_ jostled her nerves _further_. “ _What_?” Emma yelped, jumping to her feet and staring down, incredulously, at the redhead. “Don't _say_ that, Meredith, are you _crazy_? Today's a _huge_ day for me, I can't even _think_ about getting sick!”

 

Meredith rolled her eyes as if exasperated.

 

Wait, _what_?

 

“I'm only talking about _preventing_ such a situation from arising, Miss Watson, you should―”

 

“Okay, stop,” Emma cut her, palm raised. She fell back into the couch and grabbed a croissant. “See?” she enunciated, waving the flaky sweet in front her flustered agent's face before breaking off a chunk and stuffing it into her mouth.

 

“Thank you, Miss Watson.”

 

“Get _lost_ , Meredith.”

 

“ _Or_ , you could ask _nicely_ , Em?”

 

Emma twisted in place, wide-eyed, to a grinning Alexander Watson.

 

“ _Alex_ !” she squealed, shuffling off her seat to envelope her younger brother in a hug. “Thank _God_ , you're here!”

 

Alex chuckled, wrapping his arms tightly around her. “You're going through a bad phase of anxiety, I see,” he spoke into her shoulder length hair.

 

“You have _no idea_ ,” Emma moaned, thumping her forehead, rhythmically, against his shoulder. “I haven't been like this since… _forever_ , I guess! It is the première of Philosopher's Stone, all over again, Jesus _Christ_!”

 

Patting her back in sympathy, Alex pulled away from her vicious grip. “I… _might_ be able to do something about this,” he gritted out between heaving breaths while he struggled to remove her reluctant, _impossibly_ tight arms that were wound about his neck, “if only… you let me _breathe_ ―Emma Charlotte Watson, what the _fuck_!”

 

Emma, finally feeling a little less jittery, retracted her arms with a pout. “That was _helping_ , Alex,” she mumbled.

 

“Of course it was,” Alex spat, scowling at her as he undid his tie with frantic fingers. “But you forgot that I’m not your _teddy bear_!”

 

Emma clicked her tongue, her agitation peaking, again. “What were you going to _do_ about this, Alex?”

 

Alex sat down, next to her. “Eat.” He thrust the plate of croissants into her lap, himself picking up the one that she'd dropped on the couch in her hurry to get to him. “And _talk_.”

 

Emma paused, mid bite. She blinked. “Talk?”

 

“What are you nervous about?” he asked, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

 

Emma sighed, throwing her head back, against the back of the couch. “It's… a _number_ of things, to be honest,” she ventured. “But, mostly…” She took a breath, shutting her eyes as the prickling sensation of fear began to niggle at her scalp, again. “Being _here_ , I think. Paris. I'm… I just―I don't want people, here, to be less than pleased with me. I want to give them the _best_ possible impression.” She swallowed, thickly, sucking in the tears that threatened to fall. “I mean, I – I was _born_ here, and _yet_ haven't _ever_ tried to give this place the amount of respect it deserves. It's just… It feels a bit overbearing that I'm taking such a _risk_ with―ah, _launching myself_ as a writer.” She stopped to swallow again, before lifting her head to look, hopefully, at her brother. “Have I taken the right decision, Alex? With organizing the launch, here?”

 

“Of _course_ , you have, Em!” Alex exclaimed, rolling his eyes. “Don't second guess it. This is just your anticipation talking.” He let out an audible sigh. “This place is your hometown, Emma; you owe it this much,” he said, then, snaking an arm around her heaving shoulders and pulling her head down to rest against his shoulder. “And _so_ , you are supposed to be _excited_ about this, not _antsy_ . And you were _ecstatic_ when you'd finalised the city to hold the event at. What happened?”

 

Emma let out a frustrated groan against his polo T-shirt, angry at herself. “I don't _know,_ Alex, I just want to make it _stop_!” Her words were muffled, but she knew he'd be able to make them out, anyway.

 

And he did. “Guess we'll _have_ to, eh?”

 

Pushing away, she sat up in confusion. “What do you mean?”

 

He gave her a mischievous grin. “Well… I was planning a visit to _Une Colonie De Coeurs_ ”―Emma gasped, eyes widening in excitement at the name of the apartments they'd once inhabited―“after I give you a little surprise.”

 

Emma cocked a brow, smiling. “Surprise?”

 

Alex smiled back. “I talked to Dad,” he revealed, and her jaw dropped open. “He's willing to come, tonight. And _alone_. But with Toby, Nina and Lucy, of course.”

 

Emma blinked, shaking her head in disbelief. “He agreed to come, least of all _alone_?” she breathed out in wonder.

 

“ _And_ there's something else,” Alex added, reaching behind the sofa to pull up a―

 

“ _Picnic basket_?”

 

“Wait, sister,” he absentmindedly chastised, brows furrowed as he undid the type over the huge basket.

 

Emma squealed in delight at the sight.

“ _Bubbles_ ! _Domino_ !” she called out to her cats, gathering them both in her arms and holding them close. “I missed you babies _so much_ ,” she mumbled, kissing the two fervently.

 

In the background, she could hear Alex having his time with hysteric laughter. She rolled her eyes, getting go of the two furry little ones.

 

“Alright,” she said, then, slapping her laughing brother on his arm, “enough with your laughter. Let me throw on some pants, and we'll leave for _Une Colonie De Coeurs,”_ she hurriedly said, grimacing at the pajama shorts she was wearing, as she scrambled off the couch, and leapt into the direction of her closet.

 

* * *

 

 

“ _i'm here. drop by when you return. no 304 as you booked. thanks btw x”_

 

Matt grinned at Tom's message. Innocent bean, that blond. “Welcome mate,” he muttered, smirking mischievously as he typed away a response.

 

Then he took a deep breath, and focussed back at the door he'd been about to knock at. Raising his hand up, he rapped his knuckles against the teak wood, twice.

 

The latch being undone was heard after barely a minute, and the door cracked open to reveal a confused redhead.

 

“Mister Lewis?”

 

Matt smiled. “Hello, Meredith. Emma home?”

 

Meredith's face fell as she shook her head. “I'm afraid, Matthew sir, she just left with Al― _uh_ , Mister Alex.”

 

Matt’s eyebrows quirked up at her slip. Although, the fact that Alex _was_ here, in the first place, had him gobsmacked and too surprised to react on that tiny observation. “Alex is _here_?”

 

The younger girl's taut face _finally_ eased away to let out a smile. “Oh, yes, Matthew sir. He arrived just this morning; he gave _beautiful_ surprises to her sister, he did.”

 

Matt frowned. _Alex_ surprised her? Wasn't it officially _him_ that was supposed to be planning a surprise?

 

He must have looked as crestfallen as the thought had made him feel, because Meredith rushed on with an explanation, the next moment.

“Not _huge_ surprises, but, sir!” she exclaimed, waving her hands about, and, in turn, drawing his attention to reading glasses she had pushed upon her head. _That_ tinge of humor toned down his disappointment. But – it didn’t last after the girl continued. “He’s just brought over Bubbles and Dominic, is all. And has invited their father, tonight, too.”

 

His breath knocked off his lungs, Matt doubled over, coughing. Her _dad_ ? _Damn_ Alex for belittling his own, little present he'd planned to gift Emma!

 

Matt whimpered in agony, before clenching his eyes shut in frustration. He could just _hope_ that at least _David_ ’s presence would outshine Emma's father's, for her.

 

“Tough luck,” he mumbled to himself, shaking his head at the impossibility of the prospect.

 

“They're over at _Une Colonie De Coeurs_ , if you're planning to visit,” Meredith provided with a nod.

 

Matt blinked. They were visiting her _birthplace_ ? “ _Jesus_ fucking _Christ_!”

 

* * *

 

 

Tom woke up with a jolt. Sighing, he rubbed his tired eyes with a hand while the other worked on pulling off the headphones from his head.

 

He'd slept while listening to music.

 

Tom chuckled. That was a _really_ rare occurrence. He had been _dead_ tired, though, and so, it shouldn't have been a surprise.

 

Coming to his senses, he sat up in bed, and―

 

Immediately realised thee wake-up call. Someone was knocking at the door.

 

Clicking his tongue at his folly of not placing a 'Do Not Disturb’ sign before he went down to relax, Tom staggered down the massive suitor l suite, yawning. Reaching the front door, he stretched, pushing his arms high, up above his head and let out a deep groan as his joints popped.

 

Then, rolling his shoulders back, he undid the lock on the door, and―

  
“ _What_ _the fuck_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PRECAP:
> 
> ● the Launch party of 'A Gaiety That Isn't';  
> ● matt's big surprise revealed;  
> ● emma and tom meet;  
> ● emma gets drunk.
> 
> * * *
> 
> So... What do you think of this? Honestly, writing real people is turning out much more difficult than how much I'd thought it would be. But I've got all twenty chapters planned up, y'all, rest assured!
> 
> [PS. This story is going to be divided into four POVs; Tom's, Emma's, Matt's, and his girlfriend's (who is an OC, by the way).
> 
> Leave me a few words on what you think about this;  
> xoxo!


	3. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> It's been more than three months, I know, and I apologize. I cannot promise any frequency, either, because I don't want to lie. Just know that this is close to my heart and I won't abandon it.
> 
> PS. CAN YOU GUYS BELIEVE IT? Tom went to BATB premiere and Matt and Matt's fiancée did too, and I'm like – this is SO SIMILAR to this story! I'm dying, you guys, save my FELTSON heart!!!

“What? Did you plan on keeping this gigantic place all to _yourself_?”

 

Tom blinked, sputtering out a startled laughter at the two faces before him. Then, ignoring the other one's snark, he stepped forward and enveloped David Heymann in a hug.

 

“Hello, young man,” he exclaimed, thumping Tom on the back.

 

“What – what a _pleasant_ _surprise_!” Tom stuttered, shocked to the core.

 

“Nice to see you, too, buddy,” was sardonically muttered in the background.

 

Tom pulled away with a bark of laughter, letting David slide into the hotel room while he himself turned to address his best friend of years, “Rupert,” he enunciated, punching the redhead on the chest, lightly. “Long time, eh?”

 

Rupert, unsurprisingly, rolled his eyes, and engulfed him in an embrace. “And whose fault is that?” he joked, before humming, thoughtfully, over his shoulder. “Your reaction was a bit… _weird_ , here. What's up with that?”

 

Tom pulled away, shaking his head. He was still feeling quite dazed, and, without a doubt, it was going to take a while before he was normal again. “To say your visit is _unexpected_ , would be an understatement,” he honestly told Rupert. “I was rather dumbfounded, and if you may, I still am.” He breathed out, calming his body down from all the adrenaline rush as he braced his hands on his waist. “For a moment, there, I'd thought I was still asleep and dreaming.”

 

Dravid laughed aloud at that, while Rupert merely snorted, pushing Tom aside, and entered the suite with a low whistle of appreciation. Tom looked back at David, noticing his formally dressed appearance for the first time. Also, he was without any luggage, contrary to the other visitor who had at _least_ a backpack on him.

 

“Say, David,” he mused, aloud. “Why do you seem to be empty handed?”

 

The black haired man shrugged a shoulder, looking at him and away from examining the French paintings that littered the suite's foyer. “Because I _am_. Empty handed,” David told him, his lips quirking.

 

Tom shook his head, confused, as he stepped inside and locked the door after him. “I don't understand. Are you, like… staying _elsewhere_?” he asked, dropping into the sofa David had taken a seat on the arm of which.

 

“ _Yes_ , dear Tom,” he responded, brightly. “ _Well_ observed.”

 

But, by then, Tom was beginning to make out the smirk floating around the older man's serious expressions, and was getting the distinct expression that something was being kept from him.

 

Before he could comment, though, Rupert reentered the living room, a can of diet coke in hand, and, with a contented sigh on his lips, forwarded a beer bottle each to Tom and David.

“Did you know we've got ahuge batch of Pringles stocked away in the kitchen? Like, a bloody entire _cupboard_ full of it.”

 

David snorted, accepting the bottle from his hand. “You're _such_ a Ronald Weasley, _you_!”

 

“Uh,” Tom cleared his throat, switching his questioning gaze between the two men even as he wrapped his fingers around his bottle’s frozen neck. “I'd, uh,” he began in a murmur, “appreciate a slight explanation, here, guys.”

 

“Well,” Rupert announced, pausing to take a sip from his can, “ _I’m_ here for Emma. And because of Matt, of course. _He_ , on the other hand,” he continued, pointing at David, “is in the city on business.”

 

David smiled at him when Tom's wide-eyed gaze fell on him. “Heyday Films is shooting a short film, here.”

 

Tom's eyebrows shot up. “A… _short_ film?” he asked, astonished. “That sounds lovely.”

 

David shrugged, sheepishly. “It's a break of sorts, you can say. There's a lot on my plate, right now― _big_ plans for the next year, you know?” He looked confident; smug, even. Tom flashed him a smile at that. “But, these days, I was in _desperate_ need of a holiday. A―a _pause_. But my dear Rose wouldn't let me sit idle, even when on vacation,” he grumbled the last few words with a feigned scowl, making Tom and Rupert break out in laughter.

 

“It's cool,” Tom complemented, clapping a hand over the older man's shoulder. “I never sit idle on vacations, either.”

 

Rupert left out a dramatic sigh at that. “Oh we know _all_ about that, young man. The entire world does. When on vacay, you indulge into a love affair with your camera.”

 

Tom rolled his eyes, shaking his head in defeat when the other two got too busy in laughing at his expense. There was nothing but friendly teasing in it, though, and so there wasn't any chances of him taking an offence. He was certain that _they_ knew it, too.

 

Smiling, mildly, he eased back into his seat. This was a really nice change. Being here, with these people from his past that he had spent more than a _decade_ with – it felt exhilarating, somehow. He felt at ease. Not that his cast-mates at California were any less loving, no. This particular team – the _Harry Potter_ cast – just had a special in his heart. This had been a family away from home, and he was quite surprised to realize that even now, after a gap of so long, he felt as close to them as ever.

 

“Tom,” David's sudden summons broke him out of his thoughts, “what are you wearing tonight?”

 

Tom shrugged a shoulder. “I haven't exactly _decided_ , yet,” he honestly told them, causing Rupert to roll his eyes. “But I _did_ stock my luggage up with formals, so… Guess I'll mix and match.

 

David and Rupert shared a look that seemed secretive to Tom. Taking a swig from his ice-cold bottle, he leant back in his seat and let them.

 

“Um… If we tell you that we have a better plan?” Rupert asked, and Tom cocked an inquisitive eyebrow at him. Clearing his throat, he rubbed a hand over his mussed, red hair. “I mean, David and I've got a… _someone_. A person. She's, uh, helping us with our outfits today.”

 

Tom considered the offer. There wasn't exactly any _harm_ in checking up with a retailer, was there?

 

He shrugged. “Fine by me.”

 

“Great!” David clapped his hands together.

 

Tom rolled his eyes at his companion's enthusiasm, and got to his feet. He was still tired, and these two were more interested in hearing and chatting. Depositing his bottle in the table, he took his leave. “Alright, guys. I'm going to take a break, here, and see after an hour, or so.”

 

Nobody protested, and Tom took that as assent.

 

Getting into his bedroom, he groaned at the poor device he spotted lying on the floor. His phone must have fallen off when he'd made a hasty exit from the bed.

 

He picked it up with a sigh―

 

―and did a double take when Matt's iMessage flashed on the screen.

 

_guests are on their way to humanize you, Big Dog. happy meeting with renée moreau!!!_

 

Tom swore under his breath. Renée Moreau. Renée _fucking_ Moreau? The greatest fashion designer that France had ever seen?

 

They were going to visit _her_? What the hell was _wrong_ was these guys? They were taking a trip to a designer, for a nonprofessional, formal appearance? And it was Matt's idea.

 

“What the _fuck_ , Matthew!” he swore again, before deftly settling under the covers of the luxurious bed that was also attributed to Matt.

 

He was going to sleep, right now, and try and talk David and Rupert out of visiting Renée Moreau _later._

 

Tom swore again, putting a headphone on himself. He was _so not_ interested in visiting a fashion designer. Not now, not for a really long time to come.

 

He would, in fact, he was _certain_ , give anything in exchange of getting to break one Matthew Lewis's nose, right now.

 

* * *

 

Emma twirled before the full-length mirror, the wide skirt of her dress flaring around her. She bit her lip in contemplation once she was facing her reflection again. This seemed a bit―

 

“Extravagant?”

 

Alex's unnecessary commentary was starting to grate on her nerves. Could the idiot be any more unfeeling? Emma didn't want to push her luck by voicing the question, because she was certain that he _could_ , if challenged.

 

Huffing out an annoyed breath, she glared at him through the mirror. “Oh, did I _ask_?”

 

Zohara – the designer – sighed. “He is kind of… _correct_ , Emma.”

 

Emma let out a pained groan. “I've tried almost _seventy_ dresses, already, Zohara! At this rate, I'll be spending my entire day in your studio and I'll get _no_ other work done.”

 

Zohara let out a sigh. “You do not know how utterly _guilty_ I am about that pantsuit…” She trailed off with her umpteenth start with the apology when Emma shot her a glare.

 

But, when she heard an amused hum from the couch behind her, Emma wanted to curse aloud, because the damage was almost done. Now, Alex wasn't going to let her hear the end of it. She sighed, rubbing a fist into her temple.

 

“ _Pantsuit_? What, you had a _wardrobe malfunction_ , Em?” Her brother sounded way too amused, and Emma wanted to punch him in his grinning face. Maybe break a tooth or two.

 

“Actually, that was my fault, Mister Watson, that―”

 

Emma let out a shrill screech, silencing Zohara. “You do _not_ have any business asking that, Alex,” she admonished her brother, hissing out a breath when she saw how he was trying to stifle his laughter. “Alright. Laugh. _Laugh as hard as you can!_ ”

 

Stomping her feet, Emma dashed away from the sitting area and back into the trial room.

 

Why, _why_ did it have to happen to her? She didn't want her longtime friendship to turn sour, she _really, really didn't_ , or else Zohara wouldn't have been left capable of taking any more orders.

 

Well. That was exaggerated. Emma knew she wasn't cruel enough go through with such rash, spoilt-brat rich-people alike things to anyone, let alone a _friend_.

 

“I'm extremely _sorry_ , Emma,” came Zohara's apologetic voice from the doorway. “Had I known Jim would take this order so lightly, I wouldn't have involved him in the first place. Trust me, he is the _best_ stylist I have aboard. Never has he ever―”

 

“Zo, please,” Emma mumbled, cutting her off, _yet again_ , as she struggled with the zipper of her dress. “What's done is done. That pantsuit has been ruined, and… I can't squeeze into that thing if I ever to lose a hundred pounds.”

 

She was joking, but Zohara grimaced at her remark even as she stepped ahead to roll the zipper down herself. “ _No_ , of course not. That was a _disastrous_ ill-fit. Your fifteen year-old self would probably have somehow managed… but I doubt even _that._ ”

 

Emma let out a dry chuckle, trying but failing to find any amusement in this situation. “What now?” she asked, miserably, hating how pitiable she sounded. She wrapped her arms around her bare torso, stepping out of the delicate rhinestone dress in front of the full length mirror, and looked at the reflections of the nude, strapless bra and the matching knickers she wore. “Should I just go in this?” she tried joking, again, and braced her hands on her petite waist, looking at her well-maintained, not too curvaceous but quite well formed body. “Would be surprise for them all.”

 

Zohara was already standing in the closet, barking orders at her teenager assistant, and profusely ignoring Emma's musings. Emma snorted. Today was going to go to hell. She could feel it.

 

Her phone buzzed on the dresser, and she picked it up to find Meredith's text.

 

  
_Miss Patton RSVP'd just now. She'll catch a quick flight and be there by eight, she says._  
_xo_  
_Ps. Don't stress much, you. All is going fabulously._  


 

A smile slid up her face. Candice was coming. Emma nodded to herself, involuntarily thinking back to the first time she and Candice had met – through Meredith, of all people – and her smile broadened. It had been too long since they last met; had been more than a year, if emma remembered correctly. Emma absolutely _cherished_ the company of that lovely, energetic girl, and the news of her being present at the event had just filled her up with quite a bit of excitement.

 

“Emma, this is―”

 

A loud knock on the main gate of the unit startled them all, cutting Zohara off. Emma, half naked as she was, rolled her eyes when Zohara turned to look at her. “Obviously, _I'm_ not going to attend to them.”

 

Zohara opened her mouth before immediately shutting it. She frowned, shaking her head. “No, actually, I meant… Were you expecting someone?”

 

Emma arched her eyebrows, incredulously. Of course she wasn't! But, looking at how the other woman was still looking at her expectantly, maybe she wasn't that good at common sense. “ _No_ , I'm _not_ , Zo! Obviously!”

 

The door was knocked at again, along with a yell of something. But, because they were behind another door, the voice was too muffled to catch. But Alex's response wasn't, and so emma strained her ears to what her brother was speaking.

 

“...didn't have to, but it's always a pleasure!”

 

Emma's eyes widened. She quickly slipped her top back on, and hopped on a leg to wrestle on her jeans. “It's some acquaintance. I'm going to be needed,” she clarified to Zohara before quickly buttoning her trousers, and rushing back out of the trial room.

 

And, sure enough, it was an acquaintance and _more_.

 

“Matt!” Emma exclaimed, smiling brightly at the black-haired man hugging her brother.

 

Matt looked at her over his shoulder, and gestured to the jute bag that he held in hands. “Sarah’s gift,” he clarified, separating from Alex and accepting her hug.

 

“God, I've missed you _so much_!” she spoke into his shoulder, wrapping her arms tighter around the laughing idiot.

 

“Alright. I get it. _Emma_. I get it. Come on, now.” He was trying to pry her arms off, and she was messing with him, holding on tighter.

 

When Alex caught on and laughed aloud, Emma grinned, too, and finally pulled back. Matt took in a large gulp of air, immediately wheezing dramatically. “Thought you'd choke me… for a moment there,” he spoke between feigned pants, and Emma laughed.

 

“What's that?” Alex asked, snagging the bag out of Matt's hands.

 

Emma stepped up, too, folding her arms with interest as she waited for the contents of the bag to come into her view. And when they _did_ , they ended up eliciting different reactions from each one of them.

 

Though, Emma was too far lost with the squeak ― _Oh my God, Matt!_ ― that left her, she did register Zohara's loud gasp, and her evil brother's breathless laughter. But, she couldn't care less.

 

This, right before her eyes, was the most gorgeously embroidered thing she ever laid her eyes on. The gown was in the color golden, a dull hue that didn't sparkle and have off a charming, elegant look. It had a high turtleneck, decorated with rhinestones and silk thread, with long, full length sleeves, and a hem that seemed knee-length from afar.

 

“So, um… Sarah _designed_ this?”

 

That came from Alex, and profusely broke her trance. “Alex, what―”

 

“Yes, actually,” Matt cut in, smiling sheepishly when she turned her surprised gaze to him. He shrugged, then. “It's a hobby of hers.” Raking a hand through his hair, he sighed. “You've been a role model for her, ever since she's known about you. An idol, of sorts. And, uh, she didn't want to be one of those people that gift away little, meaningless, _ordinary_ trinkets to people that mean a lot to them. She just, um… wanted to gift you something _intimate_. Something that'd always remind you of her. That’s – that's what she said to me.”

 

Emma hadn't even met the girl, and she was already feeling all sorts of glad that Matt had such an amazing woman in her life.

 

“Why not come herself, though?” Alex asked, smirking as he examined the intricate embroidery around the neckline of the dress.

 

“She was too nervous to,” Matt told him, without missing a beat.

 

Through a chuckle that was mingled with something that was half a sob, and half a cough, she smiled at Matt. “I'll thank her personally, tonight. And tell her to never be _nervous_ around me. Right now, though, just…” She bit her lip, looking at Zohara. “I'm really, really _floored_ that she went for such great lengths to give me a meaningful present. _Really_ , Matt.”

 

Matt accepted when she leant towards him to squeeze his hand in gratitude, and, nodding at her designer, extracted the dress from Alex and retreated to the trial room.

 

* * *

 

Tom groaned aloud, his brows scrunching up, and brought up his hands to shield himself from Renée's assistant. “ _No_ , Nigel, not a _bowtie_ , please!”

 

His pleas fell on deaf ears, though, because Nigel simply maneuvered around his hands and threaded the small piece of cloth around his shirt's collar.

 

Rupert's laughter had no bounds, and even _David_ was smirking at him from his seat at the corner of the booth. Tom couldn't, for the life of him, understand why these formalities were being taken care of. The book's inauguration was a friendly, domestic sort of an event which should have needed no amount of such outrageous glamour.

 

But, as it was, Rupert, David and Mattwere _all_ hell bent on making a big deal out of it. Tom was, ergo, trying to go with it, too. And, anyway, it wasn't as if he was the only one being dolled up. David had changed out of his regular suit jacket into a deep green, velvet thing, which he had topped up with a sleek necktie of the same colour, complementing his plain white shirt.

 

Rupert was dressed in a rather rakish, high neck blazer in a light grey color – which he claimed was a gift to him from an Indian designer – along with dark dress pants that were too dark be termed as anything other than _black_ in colour.

 

Tom himself wore a black dress shirt that that had a dark grey collar, with black dress pants and a black suit jacket. He was provided with a sleeveless, black vest, too, but he already knew that he was going to forego it.

 

Renée entered the room, suddenly, drawing Tom's attention. “Ah! All the handsome men are ready, I see,” she declared slyly, her accent thick. “So, Tom. Are we good?”

 

Taken aback for a moment, Tom quickly recovered and nodded. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I'm great.” He coughed, smiling awkwardly at the woman who kept in scrutinizing him, raking her gaze all over his body.

 

So it _was_ natural because he was wearing _her_ designs. Tom wasn't alien to the concept of modelling; of course he _wasn't_! But it had been way too long since he'd had a vintage on himself, and this was making him more than a little uncomfortable.

 

“Ren,” Rupert called out to the woman, making a show of adjusting his blazer as he checked himself in the mirror. “What do you think of this?”

 

Renée's eyebrows furrowed. “That is… that isn't…”

 

“Not you, no,” Rupert clarified with a laugh. “This is Manish Malhotra. A friend of mine, and a brilliant designer from India.”

 

Renée didn't actually seem interested, because her wide eyes seemed forced and her nods seemed fake. Disinterested himself, Tom walked up to where David was perusing through a copy of GQ, and sat down next to him.

 

“So…” David began, pausing, dramatically. “What are you gifting her?”

 

Tom blinked. “Uh… _sorry_?”

 

“Oh, that reminds me,” Rupert interrupted, smiling at the two of them through the mirror. “I ended up purchasing those earrings, Dave.”

 

Tom wasn't making head or tail of this conversation. He looked back at David, mechanically.

 

“Oh, yeah?” David sounded excited. “That is brilliant, Rup! I loved those pieces, intricate little Israeli things.”

 

“I'm sorry, guys, but… _what_ are we talking about, exactly?” Tom asked with his eyebrows raised, and looked between the two.

 

“Oh, that's his gift for Emma,” David clarified, keeping his magazine aside. “Speaking of, what are _you_ giving her?”

 

Tom was suddenly frozen. _Gift_? Why had his brain not thought of it?

 

“You _have_ gotten her something, right?” David sounded cautious, as if he was afraid of Tom's negative answer. “This an achievement that she needs to be appreciated over, man. Don't tell me you're going there empty handed.”

 

“Achievement…” Tom didn't say it out loud, but he _understood_ how big this was for Emma. She had always―

 

“Her book being published is a _huge_ achievement for her, mate,” Rupert said, breaking his chain of thoughts, with his eyes wide. “She used to dream about it when we were younger. Don't you remember?”

 

Oh, he did. He remembered quite a _lot_ , in fact, some of which he wished to forget.

 

“I and Rose went in-depth,” David told them, smiling wistfully. “We've accumulated her fans’ enthusiastic thoughts over the prospect of their favorite actor publishing a book, and made a movie out of it. Most of them are Parisians, even.”

 

Rupert laughed. “Of course, they are. You shot the film downtown, didn't you?”

 

David grinned back at him, and the two indulged in light, fun banter, that Tom zoned out of. His mind was drawing a blank. How could he have _not_ thought of this?

 

And before the extravagant and thoughtful things that Rupert and David had come up with, presenting Emma with a bunch of even her favorite flowers was going to seem heavily downgraded.

He swallowed, nervously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Renée Moreau** is, obviously, a figment of my imagination – as is **Zohara** – because I didn't want to name any real brands or designers. **Manish Malhotra** , though, is very real and very Indian and _very_ brilliant.
> 
>  **Candice Patton** is The Candice Patton, yes. For the ones that don't know, she plays  Iris West on _The Flash_.
> 
> Do share your thoughts!  
> xoxo!  
> 


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